by J. J. Bella
"Like I said, just gofer work behind the scenes."
"Getting coffee for the bosses, then."
She flashed a little smirk. "Hey, I made copies every now and then."
"I hope you got someone to get that coffee for you, at least."
She smiled and looked down at her foam cup. "I told myself that however high up I got in the business, I'd always get my own coffee."
"Let's see how well you stick to that when you've got a five-million-dollar production to worry about and you can't spare a single bit of your mind on anything that's not totally essential."
She turned and watched the action of the scene for a moment.
"Still weird not being shut up in an office somewhere."
"That's no way to get used to this industry. You have to be on the sets, like this. You have to see how the talent interacts with one another. You have to get a feel for production."
"Do have to be here?" she asked. "I'd think you could oversee this production from anywhere."
"Nothing beats the hands-on touch," I said. "Once I feel confident that the crew has everything under control, I'll back off a little. But with this director…"
My gaze moved away from Mia and back onto Michael, who had cut another take and was speaking to Emmanuelle again. His shoulders were slumped and his arms flailed limply as he spoke to her. Emmanuelle, on the other hand, looked as impassive and imperious as Greek statue.
This didn't look good so far.
"Take these two," I said.
I gestured discretely to Michael and Emmanuelle.
"What do you make of that?"
Mia watched the two interact for a half a minute or so.
"Emmanuelle's not taking too kindly to his orders, it looks like. It's the first day of shooting, so I'd guess a hoity-toity actress like her is feeling him out, seeing what she can get away with. I mean, look at their body language- Michael looks like he's asking his mom if he can stay up an extra hour to play video games. And that he already knows the answer is ‘no'."
I nodded. It was a very solid assessment of the situation.
"I agree completely," I said. "You've got a real eye for personalities like those."
"Well," said Mia, "I may not have worked on set, but I did work with the producers and talent; I know how they can get."
I allowed a small smile to play on my lips.
"Let's get a little closer," I said. "I have a feeling this situation might need a little more than a light touch."
Mia looked excited- more than eager to get close to the action. As we made our way around the set to a better vantage point, I considered how promising she seemed so far- she just might have a future in the business if she brings this level of attention and professionalism to the other aspects of the job.
The two of us moved closer to the set, standing in a low-lit area as not to attract attention to ourselves. I wanted to see how Michael would handle this on his own. So far, it wasn't looking good.
"Just," he started off, already exasperated. "Just read the lines like they are on the script."
"I told you," Emmanuelle responded, her slim, ivory-white arms crossed over her chest, "I was reading the lines last night and I believe that my interpretation is a little more true to the character. I won't continue unless we at least give me suggestion a try."
"But…" continued Michael. "The script's already written. There's no interpretation necessary."
I shook my head, but couldn't help smile a little. It was a classic case of a woman poking at a man to see just what he was made out of. Emmanuelle wanted him to put his foot down, to tell her that it was his way or the highway. But instead, he gave frustrated explanations for why he wanted things done a certain way. I gave him about five minutes before he gave up and just let Emmanuelle have the run of the set. But seeing as how having a diva out of control on the set is about the worst thing imaginable for a production, I'd have to step in before that happened.
Looking at Mia out of the corner of my eye, I saw that she'd been observing the scene intently.
"Do you…do you mind if I talk to them?" asked Mia.
My eyes went wide; I couldn't help but be a little surprised.
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"Yeah," said Mia. "It's just a stupid ego thing with Emmanuelle. I've dealt with divas before."
Part of me wanted to keep my little assistant from messing things up further…but another part, the more insistent part, was damn curious to see if Mia would handle this. I debated the pros and cons for about five seconds before turning to her and flicking my head towards the set, making it clear that she had my permission.
A bright smile crossing her face, Mia scampered off onto the set. First, she separated Michael and Emmanuelle, bringing the actress over to the other side of the set and speaking quietly to her. I watched them carefully, my eyes flicking over to the other members of the crew, who were watching the action as though they were planted in front of a TV for a season finale.
Emmanuelle seemed to be listening carefully, considering Mia's words, whatever they were. Once she was done with Emmanuelle, she made her way quickly over to Michael, saying something quickly into his ear before rushing back over to my side.
"We ready?" said Michael, seemingly emboldened by whatever Mia had said.
"I believe so," said Emmanuelle.
And just like that, the take started with no fuss. I watched the scene for a time, noting that Emmanuelle was acting as she should, and that Michael seemed a little more certain of himself.
"What on earth did you say to her?" I asked, my eyes still on the scene.
"I just told her about method acting, about how great actresses don't need to announce what they're doing and how they're going to act before they do it. And that the true skill of an actress would be to infuse the role with their vision without the director even taking notice."
"And that convinced her?" I asked, still unsure.
"Well, then I added ‘…at least that's what Anne Hathaway told me'."
A dry chuckle escaped my lips. Mia'd managed to appeal to her ego and her insecurities all at once. Very, very impressive.
"And what about Michael?"
"Oh," said Mia, a sly little smirk on her lips. "I just told him that no one respects a pussy."
I guess that's one way to do it.
The rest of the shooting went well, though as the day went on, I noticed Emmanuelle flicking her sharp, green eyes in my direction more than once. Having the talent give me their attention wasn't new to me, and I realized that this was an issue that I'd need to address…in one way or another. I mean, I'd be lying if I said that Emmanuelle wasn't a beautiful woman; she had stunning green eyes, flame-red hair that complimented her cream-colored skin perfectly, and a body that was probably costing me thousands of dollars' worth of distractions for the male members of the crew. But I'd gotten involved with stars before- enough to know that it rarely ended well.
Mia was just as useful the rest of the shoot as she was during her "negotiations" between Emmanuelle and Michael. She seemed to have a sixth sense of just how to make herself useful. Whenever I needed something, I'd almost invariably turn to find her there, the item in hand or the task already accomplished. I found myself beginning to wonder if she was some kind of clairvoyant. But supernatural powers or no, she was clearly in the right line of work.
"I don't know about you," I said, sometime later during the shoot, as the afternoon turned to evening, "but I'd kill for a drink."
Mia nodded her head enthusiastically, showing that she was in complete agreement. I found that our previous closeness was starting to return. Nothing sexual, of course, but that I found myself able to interact with her as someone I had a shared history with, rather than someone I'd just met. And this was a relief, as carrying on the façade of pretending I didn't know her was beginning to be exhausting.
And I couldn't help but notice her in other ways. Mia was just as good-looking as she'd always been. Maybe even more
so. She'd always been a beautiful girl, but when we dated in college –or, when she was in college- she still had traces of teenage awkwardness. Now, she had fully developed into a beautiful woman. Her face was stunning, and I couldn't help but imagine how her body looked under those simple, casual clothes she wore. I found myself continually needing to refocus on the task at hand.
It was only fitting that during one of these little drifts of my attention, when Mia was off attending to some other issue, that a young woman, one of the other assistants on set, came up to me to get my attention.
"Hi," said the girl, a cute little blond with an awkward, hurried way about her. "Are you Liam Thorne?"
"I am."
"Oh, OK, great," said the girl. "Ms. Jerrod asked me to ask you to meet her in her trailer in fifteen. She said it's script issues."
And with that, before I had a chance to respond, the girl was off.
Script issues, I thought, shaking my head.
Still, if the talent needed to talk with me then the talent need to talk with me. Making my way around the set, I checked in with various members of the crew, making sure that all was going well. After around ten minutes or so of checking up, I headed outside and arrived at Emmanuelle's trailer, giving the silver steel door a gentle rapping.
"Who is it?" came the sing-song voice from within.
"Liam Thorne."
A pregnant moment hung in the air.
"Do come in."
I opened the door to the trailer and was immediately walloped with the scent of lavender and tropical fruit. I felt my eyes water slightly under the assault of the smells that were laced through the air. Strange New-Age music played, the type of music you'd imagine hearing when you walked into one of those stores that sold nothing but beads and crystals. Stepping into the trailer, I noted that it was more like a small apartment than the typical actor's trailer. My mind began to come up with estimations for just how much this little set-up cost on a daily basis, but I put those thoughts aside.
"You asked to see me?" I called out, still adjusting to the smell of the place.
"Liam," said Emmanuelle from the other room. "Have a seat."
I continued to stand, not wanting to risk getting too comfortable and wasting more time than necessary.
After a few more moments, Emmanuelle emerged from the other room wearing nothing but a flitty, nearly translucent robe. Well, nothing aside from the lace underwear I could clearly see through it. Emmanuelle stood at the doorframe to her bedroom, her hands on the frame and her hips cocked to the side, a coy smile on her face.
"What a day, huh?" she said, looking me up and town with sensual eyes.
It didn't take a genius to realize what was going on here. Emmanuelle and I had worked together in the past, and her attraction to me was about as clear as could be. She was a beautiful girl, certainly, but you can only get involved in so many workplace entanglements before it starts to become very old.
Still, she looked damn good. I couldn't help but imagine what she'd look like bent over, that robe thrown over the curves of her lower back, my hands digging into the supple, fair skin of her hips as I drove into her over and over…
I snapped myself back to reality. Thoughts like this meant I needed to get out of here as fast as possible.
"Yes," I said. "What a day."
Emmanuelle sauntered over to me, getting in my personal space just enough to make it clear that she knew exactly what she was doing.
"It's so good to work with you again," she said, her voice as wispy and light as the scents that snake through the air. "After dealing with the…newbies on the set today, it was good to remind myself that we're all in very good hands."
I got the impression pretty quickly that she didn't call me here to discuss anything of importance. Well, importance to me, at least.
"Good to work with you, too," I said. "Thought I'd appreciate it if you went a little easier on the crew."
"Oh, you mean that feckless director?" she put emphasis on "feckless" in that old-timey actress way she insisted on speaking in. "It's not my fault that he has no understanding of my vision."
"Your vision isn't what matters. He's the director, so what he says, you do."
Her curved, red eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Always with the strong tone," she said. "And I see this time you have a little helper to assist you with keeping the workers in line."
I figured it was only a matter of time before she launched a barb at Mia.
"I don't have time for this," I said, turning my body to leave.
"Oh, Liam," she said, placing her hand on my arm. "Always so hot-tempered. Why don't you stay here for a spell- relax, a little."
She couldn't make her proposition clearer without letting her robe drop right to the ground. And to be honest, it was rather enticing. After all, I wasn't involved with anyone at the moment.
But I talked myself back into a clear-thinking state of mind.
"No time for relaxing," I said, gently removing her hand from my arm and stepping away. "In the future, don't call me for a private meeting unless you have something concrete to discuss."
Soon, I was stepping through the door.
"Farewell, Liam," said Emmanuel, her voice lingering in the air as thick and fragrant as her scents.
Shutting the door behind me, I shook my head.
Never a dull moment.
Chapter Eleven
"Very impressive today," said Liam, taking a sip of his old-fashioned.
"Oh, it was nothing," I said, shifting in my seat, not handling the compliment very well.
Once shooting was done for the day, Liam and I headed out for drinks at some fancy little whiskey bar near his apartment. The bar was on the roof of one of the taller buildings in the village, allowing us a sweeping view of lower Manhattan. The sun was setting, the sky around us a brilliant, deep orange laced with midnight blue swirls. It was one of the views that makes you forget about the hassles of living in the city. At least for a little while.
"Not nothing," said Liam. "Not everyone has the guts to talk to stars like Emmanuelle so directly like that."
"Well, it wasn't entirely direct," I said.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, I've never actually met Anne Hathaway."
The corner of Liam's mouth pulled up slightly as he took another sip of his drink.
"Not like Emmanuel will ever know that," said Liam.
"I'm worried about that director," I said. "Eventually, he's going to have to stand up for himself."
"Right," said Liam. "There's not always going to be someone as intimidating as you to fight his battles for him."
I brought my glass of white wine to my lips but stopped short before I could drink it.
"Wait a minute," I said, realizing that he was making a little crack at my expense.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist."
I let a smile cross my face. It was good to see that even after all these years Liam's sarcastic sense of humor was still intact, even under his master-of-the-universe exterior.
"Seriously, though," said Liam. "Half of this job is handing personalities. If you're able to wrangle these egos, then you'll go far in this game."
"Oh?" I asked. "And what's the other half of the job?"
"Finding the right talent," he said.
"I'm not sure if that was a compliment, but I'll take it anyway," I said, giving a quick nod as if asserting my decision.
Liam and I chatted for a while, catching up on the years that had gone by. I hated to admit it, but I loved hearing all of the gossip that he'd accumulated while building his company. From my position as a gofer, all I had was a list of how certain celebrities liked their coffee. Paul Giamatti? Lots of cream. Amber Heard? The tiniest sprinkling of Splenda imaginable. Julieanne Moore? Lemon, of all things- just a spritz of lemon.
Thrilling stuff, I know.
Liam's gossip, on the other hand, was the type of stuff you'd only come across after getting to know the celebriti
es in the way that only a big shot producer would. And some of the stories, especially regarding the actresses he mentioned, were what you'd only know if you knew them well. I mean really well. I couldn't help but feel a little jealous, but I did my best to hide it.
And as the night went on and the conversation became more casual and close, so did our bodies. We started off sitting across from each other at the little stainless steel table, but after a time we ended up sitting right next to each other. So close, in fact, that I could feel the heat coming off his body. At least, I think I did.
Finally, in the middle of an animated chat, our hands touched. Nothing serious, but enough contact to give us both pause. Liam stopped midsentence, and we both looked at each other with concerned, surprised eyes.
"Um, I think I'm a little too drunk for a Wednesday," I said, moving over just a bit.
"Same here," said Liam, smoothing the front of his shirt. "Shall we call it an evening?"
I agreed, and soon we were walking silently back to Liam's apartment. Once we were there, we bid each other a good night and Liam retired to his study to work on one thing or another. Pouring myself a half glass of wine and stepping out onto the balcony, I thought about the evening as I looked out over the city.
The touch of our hands like electricity. And there was something there, something still lingering between us. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been so startling to come into contact like that. I mean, I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't still attracted to him. Physically, at least. How could I not? But any real feelings…well, I thought I'd put those aside when I broke up with him in college. I thought that I'd had everything nice and compartmentalized and though working with him after all this time might be awkward at first, I'd be more than capable of handling it. After all, all it took to get rid of feelings was to make the conscious effort to do so, right?
I sighed, realizing how foolish I sounded.
Sure, I thought, all you have to do to get rid of untidy feelings is to just decide to. Because that's how feelings work.
This was going to be an odd situation. I killed my wine and headed to bed.
